


Mirrors

by WildflowerWeasley



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Albus Dumbledore Bashing, Alternate Universe - Dark, Child Abuse, Dark Hermione Granger, F/M, Murder, Past Child Abuse, Rituals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 05:57:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21248561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildflowerWeasley/pseuds/WildflowerWeasley
Summary: It was only a game...she wasn't supposed to actually see anyone in the mirror.





	1. Just a Game

**Author's Note:**

> This lovely story was written for Fairest of the Rare's Fairest's Freaky Spooktacular! I was a total cheater and claimed my own prompt.
> 
> So much love to FirewhiskySoul and IKEAwhatyoudidthere, they are rockstars and have put up with all of my indecisiveness over the last few weeks. Love you ladies!
> 
> Lyrics from the song Separate by PVRIS (I have been so inspired by them recently, you should listen too!)
> 
> The prophecy was borrowed from Harry Potter and the Order of The Phoenix.

**Mirrors**

_ Clouded sheets of glass behind hazel eyes _

_ Stand in front of my sights blurring my life _

_ And it pulls away the world from me but I don't mind _

_ As long as it won't separate you from me I'll be fine. _

* * *

** _31 October 1988 _ **

“It’s just a game… it’s just a game.”

_ One, two, three, four… just a game. Five, six, seven... _

Laughter could be heard from beyond the door as she pulled the brush through her thick hair. Tears sprang to her eyes and she felt her face heat as her name was spoken, followed by cruel words. Their hate only bolstered her decision as she continued to brush her hair and count the strokes, ignoring the tears that slid down her cheeks.

_ Twenty-five, twenty-six... _

The invitation had come as a surprise; Jenny Miller had never invited her to any of her parties before but in the spirit of making friends, Hermione had chosen to ignore the mean little smile the other girl wore and accepted. This was the first sleepover she had been to and she had been determined to show the other girls in her class that she was worth their friendship. Now, sitting in front of this ornate bathroom mirror with their jeers filtering under the door… well, she thought maybe they weren’t worth _hers._ Still, she was determined to get through the night.

_ Fifty-nine, sixty, sixty-one, sixty-two... _

Trick-or-treating had been fun, her costume well received as she'd adjusted her pointed hat. They had returned to Jenny’s house hours later with sacks full of candy and grumbling bellies. After a quick dinner, the girls had rushed upstairs intent on playing a game…_this _game. How lucky she was to be the first one chosen. To think, they actually believed that they would see their future husbands reflected back at them. _Rubbish._

_ Eighty-nine, ninety… _

Now she sat here, back to the large mirror, brushing her hair with just a candle to light the room! Rolling her eyes, she pulled the brush down for the last time and set it down on the counter behind her.

_ One hundred. _

Using her hands she pulled her hair over her face, creating a sort of veil, and held the smaller hand mirror up in front of her. According to Ashley Wallace, all she had to do was look through her curtain of hair into the smaller mirror and her future husband would be standing behind her in the reflection. Creepy. Taking a deep breath, Hermione willed away the fear filling her belly and turned her gaze to the glass. The surface was dark, the flickering of the candle occasionally making shadows dance in the reflections but there was no face. 

Her arm felt heavy, the burning in her muscles intensifying the longer she held the mirror up, and she fought the urge to give in and put it down. How long had she been sitting here? She had apparently been lost in her thoughts for some time because the candle was close to burning out and the voices behind the door were now absent. Shaking her head, she glanced through her hair into the mirror only to freeze at the sight before her. 

She closed her eyes tight, chanting her mantra to herself. It was only a game, only a game! She was not supposed to see a face in the mirror! It was a prank, like Bloody Mary… Only as she opened her eyes once more, he was still there, his dark eyes staring back at her. A scream tore from her lips and the mirror fell to the floor, shattering around her feet as she jumped from the chair and ran out of the room.

* * *

**1994 **

Hermione sat in the library, the corner desk by the window, and scratched away in her journal. It was her fourth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and apparently there was some big event coming to the school. 

She scoffed as her quill moved across the page, venting her frustration. After the fiasco that was second year - what with that bint, Ginny, releasing a bloody basilisk into the school, all for the sake of some attention from the Golden boy; and all it got her was a decaying body in the Chamber of Secrets - it seemed obvious the Board of Governors would sack Dumbledore to keep the students safe. One would hope, at the very least, that the barmy Headmaster would refrain from putting his students into further mortal peril.

She had lost all faith in Dumbledore very quickly into her first year at Hogwarts. She had arrived with stars in her eyes, excited to learn everything she could about magic and the magical world and the hope that she would finally be accepted by her peers. That had not been the case. No, she had felt the sting of cruel words before she had even spent her first night in the castle, and the intense loneliness that seemed to be a permanent ache in her heart felt heavier than usual. 

But Hermione was no stranger to hateful words and angry hands. No, her faith in the old wizard was extinguished after she had been attacked by a fucking mountain troll in a school bathroom. The professors had found her lying on the floor in a pool of her own blood after the troll had thrown her to the stone floor cracking her skull and breaking her legs...but she had managed to stab the thing in the eye with her wand. She had nearly died. The troll had fallen with a thud beside her, trapping her arm beneath its heavy dead body.

When she’d awoken in the Hospital Wing weeks later, she learned that the headmaster had covered the incident up, claiming she had fallen down some stairs on her way to dinner. Her parents were not informed, thank Merlin. 

The whole mess with the Philosopher’s Stone at the end of first year was another blatant disregard for the safety of the children in the school; who keeps a three-headed dog in a school?! The fact that Potter and Weasley had gone down the trap door and the entire thing was all swept under the rug - rewarded even! - rubbed her the wrong way.

Her third year at school had been quiet, almost uneventful if one ignored the drama that was Harry Potter and his ginger sidekick almost getting eaten by a werewolf. Only a special kind of idiot would go out onto the school grounds during a full moon with a werewolf transforming nearby. It wasn’t Professor Lupin’s fault that Sirius Black had shown up and those two dunderheads had gotten themselves into yet another mess. By the end of the term, there was one dead fugitive and her favourite professor had resigned thanks to the ignorance of the meddlesome duo.

Now there would be a tournament which, until this year, had been _ banned _due to the deaths of participants. She faced enough at home between her negligent mother and her abusive father; she didn’t need to come to school and fear for her life as well.

No… Hermione had nothing left for Albus Dumbledore. It would be tragic if an accident were to befall their _ precious _headmaster… just like poor Ginny Weasley. 

She released a heavy sigh as she finished her entry. The students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons would be arriving at dinner that evening, and it was sure to be a spectacle. Packing her things, she made her way to Gryffindor tower to drop off her book bag. Maybe if she was lucky, Lavender would show up to dinner bald. She snickered to herself at the thought of that stuck up bitch losing her most prized feature; it would serve her right for touching what wasn’t hers. 

The scream that echoed around the common room moments after her arrival was music to her ears and she smirked to herself as she climbed the stairs to her shared dorm. She would need to thank Luna for showing her that particular hex; the dotty witch had everyone fooled.

* * *

“Come _ on, _Hermione! For once just pull that stick out of your arse and have a little fun!”

The other girls in the room giggled at Parvati’s dig and Hermione sat amongst them looking pensive. After another minute of uncharacteristic pleading from these girls who had never once cared to include her before, a slow smile stretched across her face. She knew _ exactly _ what to do. They should have been wary, of course, but the girls from Beauxbatons didn’t know her and it seemed that they were happy to go along with whatever trick her roommates had planned for her. _ Joke’s on them,_ she thought.

“Alright, fine! But I get to choose the first game.”

They readily agreed and Hermione led them to the Prefects bathroom. The first time she had performed this ritual, it had been a complete accident, but she would never forget the cold eyes that had stared out of the mirror at her. His taut, handsome face had been burned in her memory and she hoped that performing the ritual in front of others would bring him back to her. 

“Okay, gather ‘round. I’m going to explain the rules.”

She explained the ritual in detail before extinguishing the lights, causing a few of the girls to squeal. She lit a candlestick and set it on the counter behind her before picking up her brush and dragging it through her long, wild curls.

_ One… two… three… four. _

She counted each stroke, noticing that this time she held no fear, only anticipation, for what was to come. The light from the candle flickered, sending an eerie glow around the room and she could hear the hushed whispers echoing off the stone walls. She ignored them all, focusing on her need as she brushed, thinking of the man who had appeared to her when she was nine years old. Her apparent soulmate. How funny that she should have a soulmate when she was fairly certain she no longer had a soul.

_ Ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine… one hundred. _

With a quick flip of her head, Hermione’s fingers combed her hair to cover her face, making sure she could still see the reflection of the hand mirror. Anticipation filled her belly as she thought about what she wanted. She wanted _ him _to show himself, and she wanted him to scare them. It was clear by their snickering that none of them believed that a silly muggle game would actually show them their future husbands.

_ Come back to me… show them you’re real. _

She held the mirror up, watching the candlelight dance in the reflection as she called for him. Her arm was beginning to ache and the doubts spilling from the other girl’s mouths were beginning to grow louder. 

Just when she was preparing to give up and blow out the candle she heard a shriek fill the room, followed by shuffling, as the girls attempted to stand and back away from the mirror. Her eyes refocused on the smaller reflection only to see the figure of a man walking toward them. He wore a cloak so dark he was almost hidden in the shadows that the candle couldn’t reach. His hood was up and he held his wand at his side in a clenched fist, but his _ eyes _… those beautiful eyes were full of fire and the promise of pain. He walked closer and closer to the surface of the mirror, his imposing figure looking more dangerous with every step; his stride was so purposeful it looked as if he would walk straight through the mirror and happily curse each of them. 

She watched him until he was directly behind her, his attention focused on the retreating girls and Hermione chuckled darkly at the sound of their fear. When the last girl had gone, slamming the door behind her, his gaze met hers and she sent him a conspiratory smile.

“Hello again.”

* * *

The Great Hall was filled with raucous chatter as they sat waiting for the final feast of the year to begin. The visiting students had gone that morning, Fleur Delacour having won the tournament, and the castle seemed empty without them. 

Hermione sat at the end of the table, her housemates ignoring her as she read Moste Potente Potions. After her fun in the bathroom, the girls in her year had spread around that she was mad and gave her a wide berth. She still found ways to unnerve them, smiling when they looked her way or touching their shoulders as she passed; she ate up their fear. _ Stupid girls… _as if she would waste her time plotting their demise. As long as they kept their hands off of her things and left her alone, they had nothing to worry about. 

As was expected, Gryffindor won the House Cup and while her table erupted into cheers she stared at the book in front of her feeling her heart seize. Only a few hours until she was sent home where her magic couldn’t protect her. Two more years and she would be free.

* * *

**Summer 1995 **

“Stop!”

Hermione held her hands up in an attempt to protect her face and backed away from her father. They had been gone all day with no note telling her when they’d return. She had stayed in her room for most of the day, only leaving to use the bathroom or find a snack but for the most part, she worked on her homework and read. 

When the sun slipped lower in the sky and there was still no sign of her parents, Hermione decided to go down and make herself some dinner before showering and turning in for the night. It had been such a lovely day with them out of the house. Of course, her luck ran out and as she pulled the pasta from the stove to drain the water the door slammed open, scaring the life out of her. Before she realized what was happening, the pot of boiling hot water had slipped from her hands and she winced as she waited for the scalding water to hit her legs and feet… but it didn’t. 

When she opened her eyes, the pot was floating in front of her and her father was glaring from the doorway. She quickly grabbed the pot and walked toward the sink before turning to apologize to her father. He didn’t care that her magic had kept her from burns that surely would have sent her to the hospital, he didn’t care that her magic hadn’t hurt anyone or broken anything as it had in the past, he simply _ hated _ it. He feared it, and he was determined to beat it - what he believed was a demon - out of her. 

The blow that landed on her temple had her seeing stars, the pain radiating over the entire right side of her face and she tried to hold back the scream threatening to crawl from her throat. She slid down the wall, all thoughts of dinner erased from her brain and waited for him to leave so she could retreat to her room. 

“You listen to me you devil, I don’t want to see you using that _ magic _in my house! When you leave tomorrow, you don’t come back.” He spat. 

“I’m your daughter! Where am I supposed to go? I can’t get my own place until I’ve turned seventeen!”

The sneer that spread across his face was mean and full of hate and it only fueled her ire toward the man.

“You are not my daughter, you are a _demon._ My daughter died ten years ago when you took her body for your own.”

* * *

Hermione boarded the Hogwarts Express feeling both relieved that she was going back to school and weighed down by the unknown. She had no doubt that if she returned to her childhood home, she wouldn’t be returning to Hogwarts for her sixth year. 

She shuffled along, looking for an empty compartment before sliding open a door and slipping down onto the bench seat. Her face ached and she patted her curls down in an attempt to hide the swollen, bruised flesh. There was nothing she could do to hide her black eye and she hoped that no one would join her. She didn’t need anyone’s pity.

Pulling out her copy of Secret of the Darkest Art, hidden by a paper book cover, she sat back and dug into the spells and rituals deemed dark and off-limits. The book had been surprisingly easy to acquire, hidden on a dusty shelf in a used bookstore in Diagon Alley. She bet the owner hadn’t even realized it was there.

So engrossed was Hermione in her reading, she didn’t hear the compartment door slide open, nor the person taking a seat across from her.

“Interesting choice, Granger.”

Hermione’s eyes shot up from her book, landing on the boy in front of her before an annoyed sigh fell from her lips. 

“What do you want, Malfoy?”

She looked back down at her book, waiting for his response but he remained silent. He had been a thorn in her side for years until she slapped him in his pointy face. From that point on he had let her be; they weren’t friends by any stretch of the imagination but he knew she would hex his arse if he tried anything else. 

When she reached the end of the page and he still hadn’t spoken, she begrudgingly closed the book and looked back up at him. 

“Malfoy, what do y-”

He was staring. There was a look of mild horror on his face and she knew he’d seen her father’s handy work. So much for hoping she would go unnoticed until she could get to the Hospital Wing for bruise paste.

“Go ahead… I know you want to ask.”

“It isn’t my business, Granger.”

“No, it isn’t, but now you’ve seen and you’ll keep staring at me until you have sated your curiosity.”

He scoffed but didn’t bother denying it; they were very similar, she and Draco.

“Fine. What happened to your face?”

“My father tried to exorcise the demon he believes lives inside of me.”

He looked disgusted and she didn’t blame him. She didn’t know much about him but it was clear that his mother and father loved him very much, maybe even too much based on his spoiled attitude. He wouldn’t understand how it felt to have the people who were meant to love you treat you like you were evil, to hurt you for something outside of your control. No one understood.

“Now, what did you need? I know you didn’t come into my compartment for a lovely chat about our families.”

He shook his head, processing her words and cleared his throat before he began to explain his visit. He confessed that he had been given instructions from his father to keep an eye on her the summer before their third year. She raised a brow at that little tidbit; he hadn’t exactly been kind to her in third year. 

“I know. I was a shite that year and I deserved that slap. But from then on, I have done as I was asked to do. Until this year though, I hadn’t been told _ why _ I had to keep an eye on you.”

“Okay… so why?”

“Look, anyone who pays attention knows how bloody brilliant you are. They see how powerful you are as well, and after your little stunt last year with that summoning ritual…well, I believe you’re being watched. So does the Dark Lord.” 

Hermione’s eyebrows disappeared beneath her hair. The Dark Lord? What on earth did Voldemort want with her? Why would he care that she was being watched? Was she not everything he abhorred? Her questions must have been written all over her face because before she could open her mouth to voice them, he was speaking again.

“Listen, Granger. I can’t tell you why the Dark Lord has taken an interest in you, just that he has and that he expects me to keep you out of trouble. There will be a new Defense teacher this year, as usual, and apparently she’s a complete hag. She’s there to spy for the Ministry, to make sure that Dumbledore isn’t trying to usurp the Minister’s position.”

“Dumbledore? The Minister believes that Dumbledore wants his position? That’s ridiculous. Dumbledore is quite happy on his throne at Hogwarts, manipulating students and staff. I haven’t figured out what his endgame is… but it’s not to become the Minister for Magic.”

Draco looked thoughtful and mulled over her words; no one knew her feelings about the headmaster and she intended to keep it that way. She had an image to uphold, after all; she was the weird know-it-all loner. She was quiet, and helpful to those who asked; she was the one who could be counted on to get House points and guarantee the House Cup. No one suspected that she could be dangerous and that was just how she wanted it.

“It seems there is a lot I have to learn about you, Granger. You secretly read Dark texts, you cast and brew potions above grade level, and you don’t kiss Dumbledore’s feet… I thought all you Gryffindors believed the sun shone out of his arse.”

“I was a hat stall, remember?”

“Hmm. Alright, Granger, I don’t think Dumbledore suspects you and that’s a good thing but try not to get on his radar, yeah?”

She rolled her eyes and picked her book up off of the seat before waving him out of the compartment. This was going to be an interesting year.

* * *

“What have you got there, Hermione? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you receive post.”

Hermione looked up from the package in her hands and met Lavender’s eyes, a fake smile plastered on her face. 

“Well, Lavender, I’m not sure what it is as I haven’t had a chance to open it...Not that it’s any of your business, and I’m sure you wouldn’t want to go snooping around and lose your eyebrows along with those nicely restored curls.”

Lavender huffed, calling Hermione a bitch as she walked away, and Hermione turned back to her mystery parcel. She had never received any letters or packages for as long as she had attended Hogwarts, so getting one today especially on her birthday, was strange. She carefully pulled the wrapping off, lifting one side while keeping the rest wrapped around the… book? No. This was a journal, how strange. Her eyes flicked up to see Malfoy sitting at the Slytherin table almost directly across from her, his subtle nod told her that it was safe and she turned her attention back to the gift.

She already had a journal; it was well worn, holding all of her pain and secrets… it was special to her. It was also nearly full. Had Draco noticed she was coming to the last pages and gotten her a new one? Her curiosity won out over her usual need for privacy and she removed the small leather journal from its wrapping. It was beautiful and it smelled fantastic, like leather and fresh parchment along with a hint of something spicy...pepper and cinnamon. 

Unable to wait, Hermione pulled a self-inking quill from her bag and opened to the first page. She ran her hand over the page, smoothing it down, and quickly wrote the date. Tapping the feathered end of her quill to her chin, she thought about what she wanted to record.

_ 19 September 1995 _

_ Dear Diary, _

_ I am sixteen today, and there will be no fanfare, no congratulations or recognition for making it this far in my shite life. But, I did receive this lovely journal. I’m not sure who was thoughtful enough to gift it to me, but it truly means so much. Now, to get through the rest of the day without hexing anyone… a gift from me to everyone else. _

Hermione smiled, pleased with how smoothly her words were written on the page. There was nothing like a good quill and parchment. She leaned down to put her quill away and was preparing to close the book when there was movement on the page. It looked as if ink were seeping up into the page from within. Just when she began to worry that the cloudy black mess would ruin the entire journal, it came together forming words below her own.

_ Happy birthday, Hermione. I am so very pleased that you like your gift, I hope that you don’t mind my being able to read it. I wanted a way to communicate with you and vice versa, should you ever feel the need to talk. _

What? Her eyes found Draco’s once again and she could see the hint of a cheeky smile on his face. Git. So this was a two-way journal? Like the one Ginny used?

_ I do love it, thank you again. It’s beautiful. I have heard of two-way journals before but my only encounter with one led to a nasty end for the poor girl writing in it. Am I to be a victim? _

She waited with bated breath for an answer. These things were not to be taken lightly and while she thought she knew with whom she was communicating, she wasn’t completely sure. 

_ Clever girl. I don’t think you could ever be a victim of anything. I’d like to thank you though, my dear, for dispatching Miss Weasley to me. I wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for your quick thinking. _

This was news to her. When she had organized Ronald’s trip to the Hospital Wing via a nasty fall, therefore distracting Potter from his initial plan, she had only intended for the little ginger bitch to finish her mission. She hadn’t figured out who opened the chamber, only that the diary she had been furiously writing in was persuading her to do things. The girl had been nasty to Hermione from day one, sticking her nose where it didn’t belong and spreading lies. She should have listened when Hermione asked her to stop, but no, she had taken the only thing that held any value to Hermione: her Great Grandmother Dagworth’s hand mirror. That simply would not do.

_ It was not my intent to be an accomplice. I had assumed her death was all mine to claim. How sad that I now have to share it. I suppose it’s alright, as long as we have an understanding. _

Hermione’s hands shook. This was risky, especially if the person with the other journal was who she thought. He was a powerful man and was not known for playing games.

_ We share many things, little witch, but what is this understanding you’d like to come to? _

She took a deep breath, quill meeting parchment once more.

_ I would like your word that you mean me no harm. I am Muggle-born, no matter how badly I wish it weren’t so. I’m not ashamed of being the daughter of Muggles; rather, I’m ashamed of being raised by such intolerant people. People who would hurt their child out of fear. I did not survive my childhood home to be abused by bigoted wizards, my Lord. _

This was it. Would he order her to be killed? Would he find her himself so he could watch the life leave her eyes? 

_ Ah, so you have figured out who I am. You are not in danger, Hermione. Not from me nor my followers. There is a common misconception about what it is that I believe - what I want for our world. Simply put, I never intended to rid our world of Muggle-borns. As you are aware, there are many Muggles who, like your parents, fear our world. They hurt their children because they do not understand their magic. They are a threat to our society. _

_ I would be happy to speak more about this at a later time. I wouldn’t want you to be late for class. Just know this: you are safe, and should you have need of anything, you only need to ask. _

_ Also, please call me Tom. _


	2. Getting Answers and Teaching Manners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She was no one special, what would he want with her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, so much love to FirewhiskySoul and IKEAwhatyoudidthere. Goddesses, that's what they are.
> 
> I made mention of this in chapter 1 but the prophecy is actually in this chapter so, I copied the prophecy from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.
> 
> **Murder in this chapter, be warned**

_There's always been a disconnect_

_Running from my heart to my head_

_And no it's never made much sense_

_And I've been feeling so distant_

_Can you be the one to connect?_

_Pick up all the pieces again?_

* * *

** _1995 _ **

“Did you know?”

Draco had followed Hermione from the Great Hall as soon as breakfast was finished and met her in the corridor just outside of the Transfiguration classroom. He feigned innocence following her question, but he was a terrible liar. 

“You did! This is so bizarre. Why does he want to talk to me? I’m no one special…”

“Granger, don’t discount yourself. You want answers, then you write in that journal and get them.”

Seeing the other students begin to meander down the hall toward the classroom, the two stepped away from each other and made their way into the classroom. Hermione sat in her usual seat and began pulling out her book, parchments and a sturdy quill. As she dug through her bag, she resolved that she would begin her inquisition of the Dark Lord - _Tom _\- after dinner. 

“Books away, class. Today’s lesson will be a practical one.” Professor McGonagall’s voice interrupted her planning.

With a sigh, Hermione put her things away and prepared to review switching spells. 

* * *

Sitting in her bed, tucked in behind closed curtains, Hermione chewed on her bottom lip, lost in thought. She had gone to the library after dinner, determined to get answers and make sense of this strange turn of events. She _ had _gotten those answers but she also had also been left with many more questions. 

She learned that Tom had formed the Knights of Walpurgis while attending Hogwarts to find like-minded wizards who could help him achieve his goals. Those goals had been misconstrued over time, the victors changing them into something sinister and evil in order to make their own side look better. Hermione couldn’t fault Tom for wanting the Magical and Muggle worlds to be separate. Her own experience only bolstered her opinion on the matter. Tom had mentioned that he was uncertain of a solution, but as she sat in her bed, the answer seemed obvious. If Muggles could turn against their own children for having magic, could _ hurt _them, then maybe it would be best to remove those magical children from their dangerous homes and be placed into the homes of magical families.

Excitement filled her belly as she crawled to the end of her bed and pulled the journal from her trunk. Tom wanted her to join him and his cause; he wanted to teach her all of the things that Dumbledore kept locked away in the Restricted Section, wanted to help her grow stronger. She could admit that the temptation was almost irresistible.

_ Tom, _

_ I have some ideas about your Muggle-born puzzle. _

_ Little witch, _

_ I admit I didn’t expect to hear back from you so soon but I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. What are your thoughts? _

_ My Lord, _

_It seems perfectly obvious to me… if the Muggles are the problem, then why not just remove the Muggle-born babies from their families and place them with wizarding ones instead? Dumbledore has a register that lists all magical children born in Britain. We __must simply acquire this list and find_ _willing families to adopt the children. _

_ Hermione, _

_ I have told you not to call me that, stubborn witch. I have thought of the adoption of Muggle-borns before but it proved difficult to acquire the register. I will have to think more on this. You do the same and we shall see if this is a plausible solution. I am sure that if this is the answer we’re looking for, there would be many families willing to take in the children. Magical births have been slowly decreasing; adoption could be a solution to not one but two issues our world faces. _

_ I am pleased, you have done well, _little witch.

Hermione rolled her eyes at the endearment but a happy, content smile spread across her face at his praise. She closed the book, tucking it back into her trunk before drawing her curtains once again and settling down on her pillows and going to sleep.

* * *

“I’m just saying, Umbitch isn’t teaching us _anything_. We need to do something! How are we supposed to learn to defend ourselves if we aren’t learning any spells in class?”

“I get it Parvati, I do, but what am _ I _supposed to do about it?”

“Seriously, Harry? You’re the best at Defence in our year… teach us! You said that Dumbledore told you that You-Know-Who wasn’t really gone. He believes that He’ll be back and so we should be prepared for when he is!”

Hermione heard the Boy-Who-Lived sigh deeply before his hushed whispers floated toward her once more. She stayed perfectly still, hidden behind the tapestry, and waited for his response. 

“Parvati, this isn’t something that we should be talking about just anywhere. Besides, Dumbledore just told me that there was a prophecy about me. That’s the reason Voldemort killed my parents. Apparently He wasn’t told the entire prophecy but He _could _hear it if He were able to get the prophecy from the Department of Mysteries. And even then, _I _have to get it and give it to him, like that would ever happen.”

“What did it say?”

Hermione held her breath, waiting for Potter to answer his red-haired sidekick. As he recited the prophecy to his friends, Hermione furiously wrote each word on a spare bit of parchment and stuffed it into her bag. So Tom had heard this and chosen Potter, had killed Potter’s parents, but was unable to kill the boy himself. Her brows knit together before the answer dawned on her. Of course! Lily Potter had sacrificed herself for her son. Sacrificial magic was serious stuff. 

“Look, guys, I’ll teach you if you think it’ll help but we don’t have any place to hold meetings. You know Umbridge will stop us if she finds out, and I’m fairly sure her punishment will be worse than her little stunt in detention.”

Hermione turned and made her way back through the passageway; she would just have to go back the way she had come so they didn’t spot her. 

Her head spun with questions as she walked. Dumbledore obviously didn’t realize that Tom was back already. It was smart for him to stay out of sight right now, and she wondered if he knew the information that Dumbledore was insisting stay secret. 

Reaching the library, she strode to her usual table and cast a Notice-Me-Not spell around the desk. The journal was out and open in front of her in record time, and the quick scratching of her quill was the only sound in her corner.

_ Tom, _

_ I have learned something new. Something about a prophecy that Dumbledore doesn’t want you to know. Are you there? _

_ Hello Hermione, _

_ I am. What did you hear? _

Taking a deep breath and deciding she might as well tell him everything she heard, she started with the trio’s plan and went from there. 

_ Well first off, I learned that Potter and his little gang are going to start a defence group. A way for students to learn defensive spells that that hag Umbridge isn’t teaching us. That’s another rant for another time but she is really beginning to anger me. _

_ Now, Potter and his friends were in the corridor speaking quietly about this group and then began talking about a prophecy. Dumbledore has told Potter that he believes you’ll return and that when you do, you’ll want this prophecy. He made it clear that it was of _ _ the _ _ utmost importance that you didn’t hear it. What does this have to do with your plans? Every magical child knows of the Potter murders and Harry The-Chosen-One Potter, but Divination is absolute rubbish. Just because some daft witch says that a baby can defeat you doesn’t make it true, and anyone with half a brain knows that Harry _ didn’t _ defeat you, his mother’s sacrifice is what stopped you. _

_ I’m rambling, the prophecy states: _

_ “T_ _he one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...." _

Her heart beat a wild rhythm inside her chest as she watched the page, looking for the cloud of ink that would form into his words. 

_ I cannot express my gratitude to you for bringing me this information, Hermione. I am truly indebted to you, my sneaky little witch. _

_ This prophecy was given to me fifteen years ago and yes, it led to me killing the Potters that night. You are correct that Lily Potter was my undoing on that Halloween night, but it all could have been avoided had James and Lily listened to reason. Unfortunately, all of the members of The Order followed Dumbledore unquestioningly. It led to many of their ends. So many unnecessary deaths for “The Greater Good”. I can admit that my mind was consumed with reaching my goals, and my anger at Dumbledore’s hypocrisy and lies led to the manic state in which I found myself in those last years. _

_ Do not misunderstand, Hermione; I am not a _ good _ man. I will do whatever it takes to achieve my goals, including murder. When I was sixteen, I created my first Horcrux. I murdered Myrtle Warren by way of the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets. _

_By taking possession of Ginny Weasley’s mind three years ago, and with_ _your help in getting those who would save her out of the way, I was able to essentially take her soul and magic in order to bring myself back. My return went unnoticed thanks to the chaos that the girl’s death caused. _

_ Before my… time away, I had successfully created five Horcruxes in all. I have four remaining, and one I never meant to create. Over the last several months, I have noticed that Potter and I share a sort of connection. I can see through his eyes, so to speak, and if I choose to share things with him I am able to do so. Our emotions are also transferred through this connection because there is a piece of my soul living within that scar on his forehead. _

_ I’ll be honest with you, my dear, the boy will need to die eventually. I will have to kill him in order to remove the piece of my soul from within him. I’m afraid it is only a matter of time before Dumbledore realizes this as well and discovers that I have Horcruxes. _

Hermione sat still, quill poised in her fingers. She knew what a Horcrux was, having read about them on a trip to the Restricted Section late one night. To have six seemed impossible; to split one’s soul that many times… She could not understand why Tom would feel the need to do so, and she wondered if there might be a way to restore the man’s soul even just a little. 

_ Six, why so many? It seems a bit excessive to me. _

_ So you must kill Potter to remove your soul from his body. Will it return to you or be destroyed when Potter dies? _

_ Did it hurt, splitting your soul? What was it like? _

As she waited, she thought about what it would take to split her soul, to make a Horcrux of her own. She wasn’t keen on living forever but having a Horcrux would grant her safety from the wrath of her father. He had almost gone too far before. Of course, killing him would also prevent him from killing her first, so there was always that option.

_ Hermione, I will never allow harm to come to you again. I have heard from Draco about the state you arrived at school in and though I have wanted nothing more than to teach that filthy man a lesson, I have let him live. For now. I will teach you everything that you want to know, but I would prefer for your soul to stay in one piece. _

_ Yes, Potter must die and the piece of my soul within him will also die. As for why I have so many, I believed that if I had seven, a strong magical number, that I would become not only immortal but very powerful. I no longer feel that I need so many and with the piece of my soul from the diary being restored I now have four, five including the boy. _

_ As for your first bit of information, I would like for you to join this little defence group of Potter’s. They’ll expect you to want to learn as much as possible and while you’re there you may be able to pick up more information. Keep an eye on Dumbledore also, I don’t want him to have any reason to suspect you. _

* * *

The school year seemed to be dragging on. Christmas holidays were in just a few days and Hermione, as usual, was staying at the castle. When Tom had questioned her on her plans, he had seemed displeased but understood when she explained that she never left the castle until the end of the term. She had no desire to return home and was unwelcome anyway. She knew her parents would travel to France and brag to all of their friends about their imaginary daughter who was away at boarding school. She wondered if they would make up some sort of accident when the excuse of boarding school was no longer an option.

She planned to spend her break working on homework and revising for O.W.L. exams while the library and common room were mostly empty. She knew Potter would be going home with the Weasleys, after overhearing their boisterous conversation the day before, so she was looking forward to blessed quiet. 

Of course, when the quiet became too much and the familiar loneliness began to set in, she had Tom. He had become her confidante over the last few months, a friend she hadn’t realized she had been so desperate for, and their conversations were one of the few things she had to look forward to. 

_ I want there to be no secrets between us, little witch. _

His words swam into the forefront of her mind as she prepared for the day. They had talked for hours each day sharing their lives with each other and getting to know one another. She now knew that his childhood hadn’t been any better than her own, having grown up in an orphanage, abandoned as a baby and left with adults whose fear had translated into beatings and spewing vitriol. 

She shared with him her first incident of accidental magic - at five years old she had sent a boy at the park into the pond for calling her ugly. Unfortunately, he couldn’t swim and though she apologized over and over, her father had punished her, whipping her for hurting the boy even though she hadn’t understood what she had done at the time. Tom’s quiet anger translated into words that bloomed across the pages and her heart swelled when he vowed that he wouldn’t let anyone hurt her ever again. 

They spoke of the wonder and fear they felt after learning they were magical and Hermione relished in the fact that they shared a love of learning, that he too soaked up everything he could about the new world they had found themselves in. 

She wanted to learn everything that he had to teach her.

The similarities they shared were unexpected but endeared him to her all the more. She knew she shouldn’t allow herself to indulge in the crush that had begun forming with every word written on those sacred pages, she knew he was dangerous, but she didn’t care. She was dangerous too, in her own way. 

It was a forbidden fantasy and at night, as she succumbed to sleep, she gave in to her desires and let her imagination take hold, her dreams taking her where she knew she could never go.

She finished tying her tie and slipped on her shoes before pulling her bag from her trunk and making her way down to breakfast. Just a few more days until she had her dorm all to herself.

* * *

“Miss Granger, how lovely to see you this evening. I do hope your holiday is going well.”

Hermione looked up from her dinner and plastered a fake smile across her face. The headmaster was across the table, taking his place and tucking into his own dinner with a cheerful twinkle in his eye that she didn’t trust. 

“Yes sir, it’s been quite productive. I’ve finished all of my homework and have been revising for my Charms O.W.L today.”

She looked back down at her plate, taking another bite of roast and hoped he would drop the conversation. Tom had warned her of the headmaster’s propensity for using Legilimency on the students without their permission and she had no intention of the man rummaging around in her mind. 

Tomorrow morning the rest of the students would return to the castle and she was lamenting the loss of her peace and quiet. She had spent her time just as she had planned other than the unexpected pile of gifts she found at the foot of her bed Christmas morning. Just as with her birthday, Hermione had been surprised to find anything and had been immediately leery of the brightly coloured boxes. The majority had been from Tom while two others had been from the Malfoys. 

When she had reached the last box she had already amassed a large pile of both casual and dress robes, a beautiful pair of oxford heels and a large selection of books that looked to be from Tom’s personal collection. From Draco, she had received a lavish set of quills that she could hardly wait to try. The last gift rested on her lap and she carefully pulled the paper away from the box before opening it as well. Inside lay the most beautiful cloak she had ever set her eyes on and she felt tears spring to her eyes at the generosity she was being shown by people who had never met her. 

As she set the cloak to the side, she reached for the journal that lay on the table beside her bed intending to thank Tom and ask him to pass her thanks to the Malfoys as well but there were already words there waiting for her. As her eyes scanned the elegant cursive writing, the tears that had threatened to fall at the sight of the gifts gave way to great sobs. This could not be…

_ Merry Christmas little witch, _

_ I hope that this morning finds you well and that you are happy with your gifts. I am sure you were surprised and feel as if I’ve done too much but I assure you I have not. I have one more gift to give you, rather Lucius and Narcissa do but I get the privilege of giving it to you, sort of. The Malfoys would be honoured for you to come and live with them, they would like to give you a home Hermione. _

_ I hope that you will accept their offer. _

_P.S._ _I asked for help with the selection of robes and believe Narcissa made fine choices. Draco gave us an idea of your size but please let me know if anything needs altering._

_ Yours, _

_ Tom _

She still couldn’t believe that she would have a home to go to when the year was over. Unused to such kindness, Hermione had told him it was too much. She had insisted that they didn’t need to do that for her but Tom nor the Malfoys would hear anything more about it. They expected her to be waiting for them with Draco on the platform in June. 

Finishing her dinner, Hermione excused herself from the table and made her way back up to Gryffindor tower to enjoy one last night of quiet studying before bed.

* * *

As the new year came and went, Hermione was furiously preparing for O.W.Ls while attending D.A. meetings and keeping up with her homework. It seemed that she had no time for anything else and the journal in her bag had been neglected for more than a few nights.

There hadn’t been much to report with Potter and his friends, only what she had been learning but Tom had seemed pleased that she was practising the spells. She sat now in Defense listening to Umbridge drone on and on about defence theory as if that were going to be enough in a battle against a fucking mountain troll or whatever they may face in their lives. 

Her quill moved across the page, detailing her latest discovery while reading Tom’s old school books before waiting for his reply. As she read his words, her journal was swiped from her desk and her head snapped up to see the pink toad of a woman standing before her. 

“Miss Granger, I believe you are supposed to be taking notes in my class not writing in your diary.”

Hermione felt her anger begin to boil at the audacity of this woman, how dare she take something that didn’t belong to her!

“I’ve finished taking my notes, professor, please return my book.”

Her voice remained steady even as her temper began to flare when her request was denied and she asked again for her journal to be returned.

“Excuse me, Professor but I have done everything required of me for this class period and I would like to have my journal back. Please.”

Umbridge’s sickly sweet smile grew as she ordered her to detention that evening and turned away locking Hermione’s belonging in her desk drawer. 

Hermione stormed from the room, her fury growing at the thought of that bitch having access to her and Tom’s conversations. Her personal life laid bare on those pages was not for anyone’s eyes but _ his. _She would get it back, tonight.

* * *

“Good evening Miss Granger, please do come in and have a seat dear.”

Hermione walked into the gaudy office, it’s walls covered in pink floral wallpaper and dozens of plates with pictures of kittens on them. She sat in the uncomfortable wooden chair in front of the doily covered desk and waited for her instructions. 

Umbridge sauntered in behind her and around her desk to take her place. She sipped her tea, daintily patting her lips dry, in no hurry to get this ridiculous detention started and only fueling the anger simmering in Hermione’s veins. 

“Miss Granger, for today’s detention I would like for you to write lines. It is my hope that with time and repetition, the message will_ sink in _.”

“I haven’t brought my bag, Professor, I’m afraid I’ll need to borrow a quill and parchment.”

Hermione fought to keep her voice even, she had done nothing wrong and now this woman wanted to waste her time by having her write lines? 

“No need, dear. You’ll be using this one.”

Umbridge placed the black feather quill in front of her with a stack of clean parchment before taking her place back behind her desk. She seemed to be wearing a serene smile as if giving detentions was her perfect form of relaxation.

“And what shall I be writing?” Hermione asked, her annoyance bleeding into her tone.

Umbridge smiled wider before responding, “I will respect my betters.”

She saw red. Her _ betters? _ Just who did this woman think she was? 

Taking a deep breath and resolving herself to get through this in order to have her journal back, Hermione picked up the quill and, assuming it was a self-inking quill in the absence of an ink pot, began to write the nonsense the woman required of her. As she scratched the quill across the paper, she first noticed the stinging in her hand and then she watched as the words written on the page formed in deep red. Her blood.

Hermione dropped the utensil abruptly, her heart pounding in her chest and she stood up nearly knocking the chair over.

“What the fuck is that?!”

Umbridge stood up calmly, picked up the quill and set it back beside the parchment. Her condescending smile did nothing to quell the emotions rioting through Hermione but she continued anyway.

“Everything alright dear?”

“I want my journal now. I will not write lines with that bloody quill. Give me my journal.”

The smile fell from the professors face, all pretence of that sickly sweet persona now gone and she simply responded that she would not be returning the journal. Hermione seethed. She picked up the quill holding this tiny torture device in her hands, running her fingers over the beautiful feather.

“You will give me my book, professor.”

Umbridge scoffed, walking around the desk to stand just behind Hermione, and she felt the older woman’s hands push down on her shoulders as if she were going to force her back into her chair. 

“I will _ not _give you your-”

Hermione swung around quill in hand and drove the sharp nib into the soft skin of Umbridge’s neck. Her words were cut off abruptly and she began to flail around in an attempt to save herself. Hermione stared into the fearful eyes of her professor, blood coating her hand and watched as the last of the light began to leave them.

“You shouldn’t have taken what doesn’t belong to you, Professor. That’s just bad manners.”

The woman’s body fell with a thump to the floor and Hermione dropped the quill before using her wand to clean the blood from her hands. She walked behind the desk and opened each drawer until she found her book and held it to her chest. 

With a sigh, she strode around the desk, stepping over Umbridge’s body to make her way to the door. With a wave of her wand, all of the blood vanished from the stone and the professor was nothing more than a stray pink pearl button in the corner of the room. 

* * *

Hermione stood at the end of her bed, everything that she owned was packed neatly into her trunk and she prepared herself for what was to come. She wouldn’t have to endure a long and lonely summer, wouldn’t have to walk on eggshells every moment in an attempt to avoid a beating. She was _ free. _She would be going to live at Malfoy Manor where she could practice her magic and learn about things that only magical families knew. 

Slipping into her flats, she adjusted her top and smoothed out her skirt before levitating her trunk behind her and heading toward the carriages. No one bothered to wish her a happy summer, there would be no sad farewells for her, there never were, but she hoped there would be happy introductions...maybe even with the man she had become so very fond of.

“Granger, did you hear?”

Hermione looked up from her seat on the train, a feeling of deja vu coming over her as she remembered their meeting like this on the way to school. 

“Hear what, Malfoy?”

“Umbridge. She’s missing...not that anyone is sore about it, quite the opposite actually. No one has seen her since the week before exams. Snape said she probably went and pissed off the wrong person while visiting Hogsmeade.”

“Hmmm.”

Draco’s eyebrows rose and his eyes widened. “You know something! Spill.”

Hermione laughed, this boy who was so pompous and serious all of the time was now leaning forward eagerly awaiting the latest bit of gossip. 

“Draco Malfoy, you are ridiculous…My lips are sealed.”

“Ugh! Come on Hermione, we’re practically family now, yeah…”

Hermione sobered at the thought, still unable to wrap her mind around the fact that his family actually _ wanted _her. He must have noticed the change in her because he quickly crossed the compartment and sat beside her.

“Hermione, I know this is strange...meeting a new family and basically starting a new life with us but I hope you know that we really are happy to have you join us.”

“Thank you, Draco. Really, this is kind of scary but I can tell you with complete certainty that I am so happy to be joining your family. To feel safe...wanted...it’s all I’ve ever wanted.”


End file.
